


I Can't Make You Love Me

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Drama, Episode Related, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-06
Updated: 1999-05-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Elaine's musings on Fraser.





	I Can't Make You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

I Can't Make You Love Me

Hello, I'm attempting something that's Dianne's fault. : This is my first DIEF posting, so if it's been done to death, I swear I didn't know.: 

This is a song challenge story like Dianne's last four. Bonnie Raitt, from the "Luck of the Draw." I started remembering, how during VS Elaine knew about half of what was going on.... and the look on her face in "North" while Fraser and Ray were missing. Comments welcomed, in fact longed for, at. 

None of these people are my creations or mental property, they belong to Paul Haggis, Alliance, CBS, CBC, et.al; and I'm putting them back basically as I found them. Posting/transmittal of this story is allowable as long as this disclaimer and the author's name are attached. Or I'll find you and feed you to my imaginary lawyer.... 

# "I Can't Make You Love Me"

by Christina Kamnikar  
copyright 1997

\+ Turn down the lights + + Turn down the bed + 

You've suspected it for a while, Elaine. It shouldn't hurt this bad, to know Fraser's hopeless. And why. You should be handling this better. 

Oh, you knew he wasn't going to be easy; not with that shyness, the stammering around anything female about anything marginally sexual. Guys like him usually know how cute they are, milk it for all it's worth. Or at the very least, they have the confidence that goes with not worrying about a woman's reaction to them. 

But not Fraser... no, it never occurs to him that they're interested until it's so blatant that he can't escape without being rude---but he never is. He just blinks, stumbles, backs away, mumbles some excuse, pretends not to understand. He couldn't have been cute in high school, or maybe things are different in Canada, maybe they don't date until they're all in their twenties, maybe they have pre-arranged marriages, maybe they're all celibate. Who knows? But it is why you never, *ever* made the mistake of asking him out. If you'd done that, you'd be in the same position as half the women at the station right now, with Fraser too self-conscious to meet their eyes when he sees them. 

No, you were smart. You knew better than that. 

\+ Turn down these voices + + Inside my head + 

Not since your senior year in high school, when it all came together, finally, just like Mom promised---the skin, the hair, the body, and the *knowing*---not since Mike Durrell in eleventh grade have you failed to make some kind of impact on the male of the species. Maybe you didn't want it, sometimes it was inconvenient, a lot of times it was left unsaid. But it was always there, acknowledged, that they were men and you were a good-looking woman and that meant that there were possibilities contained in that fact. A few weren't worth the time of day, but a larger population rated coffee and conversation, dinner and drinks; and a select handful were worth more time and effort, and one or two were even worth a couple of regrets. 

Fraser, though, Fraser doesn't deal with you as a woman. He deals with you as a person, which is very different. Nice. Unexpected. Warming. Typical of him, because he treats everyone that way, considerately, kindly, politely... but it's also frustrating. Very, very frustrating. Because he is one of that very small percentage who'd be worth more than a few regrets, a few sleepless nights, more than a couple of risks; worth getting hurt for. Handsome, smart, kind, brave, upright--- all the perfect adjectives to describe the Prince Charming you stopped believing in back in college; and you can't get the response you're looking for because he steadfastly refuses to hear the question. 

Put a spin of innuendo on a conversation, try to hint at what's on your mind, and half the time he won't get it; and when he does, he blushes and flees. Or he pretends not to understand---sometimes you're *sure* he's aware of what you're really asking, he just doesn't have an answer, or is afraid he's misunderstood the implications. It's sweet. It makes you crazy. It makes you sing along with the Muzak in the supermarket, late at night, when you need chocolate the way you need air, because you aren't getting something else you want even more than Ben & Jerry's Double Fudge Chunk. 

It makes other women crazy too, but none of them are having any better luck, no matter what Francesca Vecchio claims. 

\+ Lay down with me + + Tell me no lies + 

You thought you had your chance there, didn't you, Besbriss? About a week before Vecchio's sister showed up at the precinct, lying through her teeth, you dressed his wounds, put iodine on the cuts and bruises... well, that's what you're here for. You're the Civilian Aide, you hang on to the 

First Aid kit, nothing strange about it, it's part of your job. And when Fraser limped in, too embarassed to go to the ER, Vecchio looking like he wanted to kill something, you weren't stupid. You volunteered, over the Mountie's protestations and Vecchio's preoccupation, to fix him up. 

Got to look at him with his shirt off, and wasn't he a sight. Under those bruises, under the damage that broke your heart, he was every bit as fine as you'd guessed. Not as macho about getting hurt as some guys would be. More embarassed about getting cornered, walking into the beating, than he was about not being able to fight off four guys at once. You were trying hard to be gentle, not teasing him like you would have Vecchio or Huey or Louis, just being as careful as possible.... and the intimacy of what you were doing, touching him, leaning over him, it triggered something. In you. In him. 

This guy is not like all the other guys, you thought; this guy really *matters*. He didn't deserve this, this sweet, caring man shouldn't have gotten hurt trying to help someone else. The insane urge to kiss him, to sooth away all the hurts and the unfairness, made your hands tremble, and you had to swallow hard before you went back to what you were doing. Maybe it showed, maybe he saw it in your expression.... 

You were asking him about an old scar, just letting the conversation meander in whatever direction it was going, and you saw it, finally: the recognition in those deep, clear eyes, that you were *there*, female, available, attractive, possible... and you could see it scared him. So you didn't push it, didn't take any more advantage of the moment; you were that sure he'd call. Ask you out. Maybe just start a conversation with you that didn't have to do with crimes and computers and records and police work sometime soon. 

\+ Just hold me close + + Don't patronize + 

\+ Don't patronize me+ 

It didn't happen; maybe that was Francesca's fault. No way she got what she said she did from him, no, you know that. If the way he reacted hadn't been enough clue, you would've known by the dates; he was still busted up from Zuko's guys when Ms. Vecchio was trying to hint that they had an up-close-and-personal encounter. Nuh-unh. Didn't happen. 

Another reason why; because you knew by then that he was not casual about matters of the heart. You had decided that that was just fine, because the singing in the shower and the daydreams were getting worse, and maybe if you played this right, you could have something more than just a fun romance with a man who could truly appreciate it.... if you could just figure out how to start it, how to get him to *want* to start it. 

But damn, you wish Francesca hadn't pulled that stunt. Have to admire her guts in trying, but that attempted seduction sent him right back into his shell, made it that much harder to build on that one fragile second when you were looking after him, when you had that connection, the possibility of a spark. 

Plus, you wish you'd thought of it first. You'd have done it right.... and maybe things wouldn't be the mess they are right now. 

But you have to wonder if even that would have worked. 

\+ 'Cuz I can't make you love me + + If you don't + 

Fraser's in jail. He won't be there long; Vecchio was on the phone with the bank, his lawyers, yelling---he's always yelling, Ray Vecchio was first in line when they were handing out the volume and last for the volume control---about getting the bail together, fast, mortgaging his house for the Fraser's sake. You have to say this for him, jerk though he is; he's loyal. A good friend. If there's anything he can do to get Benton Fraser out of this nightmare, he'll do it. 

I.A.D. has never been anyone's favorite bunch of cops, but insisting on Fraser's arrest has earned them a couple new enemies. They are cruising for a gang lynching; Welsh, Guardino, Huey, Vecchio, half the rest of the station, they're all looking for ways out of this thing for the 27th District's Mountie mascot. It's so incredibly stupid. As if anyone in their right *mind* could think for a second that Fraser would shoot some con in cold blood, much less Diefenbaker. Never. I.A.D. is desperate if they really believe any of this.... 

Except the evidence is so convincing, if you don't know him. And all of it compiled by someone Fraser trusted; someone who you were envying a couple of days ago. 

\+ You can't make your heart feel + + Something it won't + 

Staring at her picture, just trying to comprehend how someone could be so evil. The picture of a dead woman, says the computer, and computers don't lie, do they? Not unless you get them to believe a lie for you, like Victoria Metcalf did. 

Victoria. Pretty name. Pretty girl, even in an unflattering 

mugshot. The evil doesn't show, although there's a serial number under the face, and a rapsheet attached to the photo. 

You knew the day after she showed up what had happened; because Vecchio was laughing his head off, telling Louis that Fraser had a girl at his place, somebody special. Someone who'd made him call in sick, Mr. Honest and Dependable. You pretended not to hear, that first time, but then the other staff started asking you, like you oughta know every little thing about Fraser: was it true? I don't know, you lied. Maybe. Who is she? Is it serious? What's she like? 

You sat there, internally miserable, outwardly calm; acting just a little irked, that's acceptable, that's understandable, everyone bothering you for details you don't have about something you don't care about. But not worried. She'll leave, you told yourself. One day does not make a relationship. He's never even mentioned her before, how can it be important, how can he be in love and you never have seen it.... 

No, worried was for when it looked like she shot someone, and you watched Welsh's office, watched Fraser and Vecchio and the State's Attorney talking about pleas, and coming in for questioning, and there were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before. Lines on his forehead, tightness around the mouth, and you wanted to help, wanted to offer support, but that wouldn't have been a good idea. You aren't supposed to know half of what you do, and Fraser wouldn't have wanted to field your sympathy, not then, not when there was trouble. You are a friend but you're not close, not like Vecchio and he are. Fraser likes you, respects you, but this is personal and he'd clam up, draw himself inward away from contact... and it hurts, to know that. That Vecchio can help, can offer friendship and understanding, and you can't. It stings like nothing you can remember in recent memory. 

That, and the fact that he was doing all this, worrying, planning, talking with the authorities, all on the behalf of the woman he loves. Who isn't you. 

\+ Here in the darkness + + Of these final hours + 

Then things got so much worse so fast it was unreal. Victoria disappeared. Evidence piled up, witnesses implicated Fraser, the noose tightened around him and Vecchio both---and all of it, it looked like, engineered by her: Victoria. Someone Fraser loved. Someone he was probably making love to, not less than two nights ago. You don't want to guess how much that has to hurt him, being betrayed like that. It makes you physically sick. Angry. 

How? How could she do it? How could she want to wound him so deeply, so personally? 

So now he's in jail---or maybe out by now, Ray's been gone at least an hour---and there's nothing, nothing you can do. You've been over the databases, the phonecalls, you've been getting coffee and helping out Huey and Louie, hoping they'd find something... and there's nothing there to find. Not one thing. The kindest, most decent man you know is being set up and you are *helpless*. 

The sheer enormity of it takes your breath away. She had to have planned this all along, before she came back and saw him again. Lied to him, seduced him, set him up.... You wish you'd had a chance to meet her before anything had happened. Because you know, you *know* like you know your name is Elaine Besbriss--- you could have warned him. Some women can wrap decent men around their fingers, make them believe any lie they want, but any other woman can spot those monsters a mile off. Most of the time you wonder if the men they're dazzling can think at *all*, to not notice what's smiling at them isn't human. Or you wonder what those men are thinking with. 

But Fraser isn't like that; it couldn't have been just sex, it couldn't have been just a pretty face and a couple tears. He had to have thought she was special, different... If you'd seen her, met her sooner, you could have told him: this one is bad. Pure wickedness. She can't love anyone but herself. Don't do this, don't let yourself be sweet-talked into loving her, she isn't worth it, you deserve better, Fraser.... 

\+ I will lay down my heart + + And I'll feel the power \+ 

\+ But you won't + + No, you won't + + 'Cuz I can't make you love me \+ + If you don't + 

Guardino jostles you awake; you fell asleep in front of the computer. Lieutenant Welsh suggests you go home, get some rest, but you tell him you're okay, you'll stay a couple more hours. Just in case... He lets you stay, and you go back to methodically combing old files for evidence that isn't going to materialize. 

Something's happening; you're not sure what. Vecchio comes in, excited and keyed-up, talks to the Lieutenant, gets Huey and Louie into the office, everyone knows something's going down. They all rush out, and you 

stop pretending to work and go to Dispatch, needing to hear the details as the situation develops. 

"Backup requested at the train station.... Shots fired. Suspect is armed. Repeat, suspect is armed." Vecchio's voice, strained but not worried, and you're elated, relieved, it's going to be okay, they'll catch her, Fraser will be cleared. 

Not that it'll make up for anything. Not that she'll _ever_ pay enough for what she's done. But it's a start, it's justice, it's a victory for the good guys--- 

"Officer down, officer down! Ambulance needed at Grand Central Station, Fraser's been hit---" 

No. Oh, please, God, no, don't let this be happening.... 

\+ I close my eyes + + Then I won't see + + The love you don't feel \+ + When you're holding me + 

Touch and go. Fifty-fifty. We'll see. Phrases like that make you leave the waiting room, wander the halls aimlessly, not wanting to be around if bad news comes. You can't handle the thought of what will happen then. Vecchio's there, with his family. Half the precinct, maybe. A friend or two of Fraser's from the consulate, people you don't know... 

She got away. The poisonous snake got away. 

It makes you wish you knew voodoo, the way Great-aunt Marie always claimed she did, so you could put a hex or a mojo or whatever it was on that woman. Give her a heart attack, stabbing pains in the head, a thousand little mosquitos biting at her skin... Nothing would be enough. Nothing. 

Fraser shouldn't be the one lying in that hospital bed, it should be her; Ray was aiming for her. He's devastated, you can tell, because he's quiet, not complaining, totally silent, his eyes following the doctors like they're his hope of heaven. You feel for him, you really do, because you know exactly what he's thinking, that he cares about Fraser like the Mountie is family. This is killing him, that he shot his best friend. You can't even call it an accident; it was just Fraser being Fraser, trying to help Victoria up until the very last second. There's no way Vecchio can be held responsible. But that probably doesn't make Ray feel any better. 

The woman responsible probably didn't even look back. Maybe she laughed. God, how you hate her... 

You walk into a stairwell and sit on the stairs, crying. Admit it, Elaine: for all the righteous anger you have against her, for all your frustration at your inability to help, for all your concern and fear for Fraser, there is an ugly, petty emotion that is making you cry just as hard as your worry about him. Jealousy. You would give several typing fingers to have Fraser feel about you the way you think he felt about Victoria. Life has never been more unfair than this, ever. She had him, she had a chance with him, and she threw it away and tried to ruin his life and maybe she's gotten him killed, too, and you just don't understand how this is possible, that the world works this way, that a good man is dying for love of someone who couldn't have cared, couldn't have known what she had, not like you know him, not the way you do.... 

\+ Morning will come + + And I'll do what's right + + Just give me 'til then + + To give up this fight + 

A few hours before dawn, the news comes that he'll be okay; and you stagger home, go to sleep, able to breathe without crying, sending up thank-you's to heaven that he's going to live. That at least that much karmic justice is operating. 

Visiting hours are after work. The early days after the shooting, Fraser is still groggy, uncomprehending sometimes, in a lot of pain; you just sit by his bed and tell him what's happening at the station until he falls asleep. Ray is always there when you are, which should make you resentful, but doesn't. Vecchio is in almost as much pain as Fraser, you can't begrudge him the time with the Mountie. Not when you don't even have his claim of friendship; you're just _a_ friend. Ray is his best friend. 

There's a different kind of pain in Fraser's eyes, as the weeks go by. You don't want to pry, or ask him what's wrong, because you know what it has to be. Who he's thinking about. 

Today you walked into his room, and for once Vecchio wasn't there; Fraser was asleep. And it was nice, to just watch him resting, knowing he was recovering, he was going to be okay. You were thinking that some day, down the line, far, far down the line, he'd get over this and you'd be there. You'd treat him so much better than she ever did, make it up to him, make him forget all about her, and maybe you'd have a chance--- 

Francesca Vecchio came in and you were annoyed. She visits as often as you do, maybe for the same reasons, and you'd like to take her aside and have a little talk with her about not bothering Fraser, but you doubt she'd listen. And are you any better? 

Before either of you did anything more than glare at each other, Fraser woke up. Disoriented, not really seeing you, he smiled---one instant of heart-stopping love in those blue eyes---then the smile faltered, and his eyes focused, and you knew. You knew. He thought you were her, just for a second. That look was for the woman who betrayed him and set him up and almost killed him. 

He still loves her. 

\+ And I will give up this fight + 

\+ 'Cuz I can't make you love me + + If you don't + + You can't make your heart feel + + Something it won't + 

Francesca doesn't see it, she's still talking to him right now, trying to get a response, and he's being polite, chatting quietly. There's nothing for you to say. It's a good thing that Vecchio's sister and Fraser aren't paying attention to you. Because if they were they'd see you were upset. And they might ask what's wrong. And then you'd cry. 

In a minute, you are going to find an excuse to get out of here, Elaine. You will walk tall, and straight, and calm, and you will go home and make dinner and not cry or think about this again. Because he is hopeless; he is gone on that woman, for whatever reason, even though she's the last person on earth he should be with. And until he is over her, you don't stand a chance. You don't have that kind of time. It could take years for him to stop loving her, because he still loves her after all she did. 

You didn't know you were this much in love with him... not until now. 

\+ Here in the darkness + + Of these final hours + + I will lay down my heart + + And I'll feel the power + 

\+ But you won't + + No, you won't + 

It won't be easy. But you'll do it. You will get over him. It's going to be doubly hard, because there's no end; no rejection, no betrayal, no hurt to obsess on or remind yourself with. Just that look of love, then the disappointment when he saw it was you. All the feeling you'd suspected was inside him, all the emotions you'd caught fragmentary glimpses of, there on his face directed at you, only it was for someone who isn't coming back. That's not enough to torment yourself with, it isn't going to be enough to make you stop wanting him or loving him, not right away. Not soon. 

But given time, you'll stop dreaming. Stop singing about him when your mind wanders. Find someone else to love, who can love you back. You have to. No one could possibly be worth waiting for as long as you'll have to wait for Fraser; and he might not want you even after he's over Victoria. This isn't about you. This is about Fraser, and how hurt he is, and how badly she used him. You can't win this one. 

Just give them another few minutes, Elaine. Long enough to think of an excuse, and for your voice not to crack when you say you have to leave. Long enough to pretend that you can accept this. Live with this. Live with your heart broken, breaking, every time he looks at you and it isn't the look you want from him.... it isn't the look you want to see, because you aren't the one he loves. 

\+ 'Cuz I can't make you love me + + If you don't + 

* 

Christina FK Mercenary Mommy General DueSer Methos's 69th Wife One of the women in Ray's Black Book 

Comments welcomed, flames cheerfully cataloged for future reference.... 

* * *


End file.
